


Now Everybody's At A Middle School Dance!

by dollsome



Category: Arrested Development
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 12:24:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18249782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollsome/pseuds/dollsome
Summary: In which Gob and Tony -- the last school dance chaperones you could ever want -- chaperone Ann's son's school dance.





	Now Everybody's At A Middle School Dance!

**Author's Note:**

> I did it! I finished the fic prompts!! This is in response to m'girl agirlnamedkeith on Tumblr providing me with the prompt "Blunder + 'Ready for our dance?'".

“Ready for our dance?” Gob asks with a vaguely feral grin.

“Oh, I was born ready,” Tony assures him zestfully.

The two magicians peek out at their currently unsuspecting audience. Conditions are perfect. The lights are low. The music is loud. (Even if it’s a little lame. Thank u, next _what_?) The decorations are -- well, not as high quality as what you’d get from the helpful staff of a closet conversion company, but pretty decent overall. And best of all, there are dozens and dozens of audience members standing around, just waiting for a magnificent show.

Or, well, dancing. They’re actually dancing. But can you really call what these pipsqueaks are doing ‘dancing’?

The lyrically mystifying pop music cuts off abruptly, replaced by the majestic opening strains of “The Final Countdown.” Gob had slipped the DJ two dollars and a bouquet of hidden-up-his-sleeve flowers to get that to happen. Then Tony had followed it up with a twenty, since the original offer actually hadn’t been super persuasive.

Gob and Tony nod at each other, enjoying the shared adrenaline rush. Then on the count of three, they groove out from behind the bleachers into the center of the gymnasium, and by God, they dance like everybody’s watching.

Which they are.

The tween audience looks on in … well, probably not awe. Something. One adolescent boy with spiky dark hair and an unusually forgettable face claps his hand over his eyes in shame.

"NOW EVERYBODY'S G--" Tony, fortunately, rethinks this at the last minute. "--AT A MIDDLE SCHOOL DANCE!!!"

"LOVE EACH OTHER!" Gob thunders. He too realizes the need to modify the message for his current audience. "But, you know, probably just over-the-clothes stuff at this point."

That one gets a few snickers.

The two men are just getting into their most magical moves -- Gob hadn’t been able to find a knife to hold between his teeth on short notice (they’re really not into you bringing that kind of stuff in here), but he’d snagged a ruler from one of the classrooms and that has almost the same effect; Tony is hurling handfuls of glitter snatched from the art room around like it’s going out of style (not that it ever will) -- when the music abruptly stops.

A stern-looking teacher strides over to them. She doesn’t really give off the energy of someone who wants to join the wild dancing frenzy.

“This really isn’t necessary,” she says. “As chaperones, you’re really just supposed to keep an eye on the kids and making sure no one spikes the punch.”

“ _Please_ ,” Tony says a little too confidently. “We knew that.”

“We’ve got that all covered,” Gob agrees. “We just wanted to show these little nerds how to _really_ dance.”

“You don’t have to show them,” the teacher says. “They can figure out how to dance on their own.”

“Can they?” Gob asks, unimpressed.

“Yes,” the teacher says stoutly.

“Excuse _you_ , ma’am,” Tony says indignantly. “You’re talking to a former Hot Cop here.” He gestures at Gob.

“I don’t know what kind of case you think you’re making with that,” the teacher says, “but I promise you, it’s not working.”

“I don’t mean an officer of the law who’s exceptionally good-looking,” Tony says with an impatient huff. “I mean a one-time employee of the premiere stripping agency--”

But the teacher has already stomped away from them. The music goes back to the dull, non-“The Final Countdown” variety. The tweens resume their uninspired footwork.

“Well, I, for one, think we’re killing this gig,” Tony says with defiant gusto.

“Oh, same. Same.”

They stare sadly around the decorated gymnasium.

“One question.”

“Hmm?”

“We weren’t supposed to spike the punch?” Gob mutters.

Both of them glance over to the punch bowl. Kids are really milling around that thing.

“Could be just the juice part they’re into,” Gob says, hopeful. “Juice can make you do some crazy [bleep].”

“Let’s get out of here,” Tony decides. “This crowd can’t handle us.”

“Losers,” Gob says, trying a sassy snapping motion he’d seen in a gif and attaining about 27% success.

They strut out of the gym. Before they exit, Tony throws one last handful of glitter and Gob leaps up in an astounding kick-...type thing.

It’s best to leave your audience wanting more.

Or, well. Sometimes it’s just best to leave.

“So, on a scale of one to ten, how well did I ... totally blew my chances of getting my kid to not hate me?” Tony asks, a slight Charlie Brown sadness to his posture, as they step into the hallway.

“We’ll keep working on it,” Gob says, putting a consoling arm around his shoulders.

* * *

Ann Veal receives a phone call the next day imploring her _not_ to volunteer her ex and his boyfriend to chaperone any more of her son’s middle school dances. Especially since their strange performance has become a massively popular meme that has, shockingly, catapulted her previously ignored son to spectacular levels of adulation and popularity.

“... Him?” Tony asks, disbelieving, when Ann drops by his and Gob’s apartment to deliver the news.

“Him,” Ann confirms with a sigh.

“HIM!!!” Gob and Tony cry, high fiving in exultant triumph.


End file.
